Page 8 of Tempted by Her Boss

Grace stood up, ‘What is the obsession with my hair? Is something wrong with it?’

She stood in front of the mirror looking at her reflection. She’d had long brown hair for as long as she could remember. On the odd occasion she might get some highlights or the odd hair dye job when she got it trimmed, but apart from that she usually tied it up for work. She frowned, taking a look at her ends. Maybe it was a bit straggly. Maybe it could do with a tidy up?

‘Do you think I should get it cut?’

Anna stood behind her, putting her hands around either shoulder and resting them on her shoulder bones. ‘What about a few inches? It might be easier to handle. Give it a bit more volume.’

Grace took a deep breath. She’d never had her hair that short before. She looked at the several straggly inches that hung beneath the position of Anna’s hands. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

She looked at the clock. ‘I don’t have time. I need to be at the airport in five hours. I’ll never be able to get my hair cut before then.’

Lara swung her legs off the bed. ‘Yes, you can. There’s a salon in the mall that stays open really late. I’ll call them now.’

‘But what about my packing?’

Anna shrugged. ‘I’ll do it. Take out some toiletries and some underwear. I’ll just throw in everything we’ve got on the bed, along with shoes and some casual gear for under the hazmat suit.’

She’d forgotten about that. Wearing the hazmat suits in a hot climate was going to be really uncomfortable. Thank goodness her friends could keep her right.

She looked at the clothes on the bed. Truth was, if her friends left right now, she’d probably pack a whole load of bland clothes that she wouldn’t even think about. Having their expertise was actually quite exciting after all, Donovan had commented how much he liked her green shirt...

‘Come on, slowcoach!’ yelled Lara. ‘I’ve just spoken to the salon. They can take you in twenty minutes. Let’s go.’

Grace grabbed her bag. A new haircut. A revamped wardrobe. And a chance to prove herself to her team leader. What more could a girl want?

* * *

Donovan stuffed things into his carryon bag. He hated luggage with a passion and had no intention of standing around while a conveyer belt of multicoloured suitcases filed past at two miles per hour. He only hoped the rest of team were as prepared as he was.

He folded one suit and a couple of shirts and ties. The rest of his clothes were casual. He was going to be on the ground investigating or in the local lab. He wouldn’t need a lot of professional clothes. Just as well, as his latest suit and handmade shoes had just been incinerated. He winced when he remembered how much those shoes had cost. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time—spend a little extra, shoes that were measured and moulded to fit. It had been like wearing a pair of comfortable slippers, the Italian leather had been so pliable. Too bad they were gone for ever.

He flung his shaving gear and toiletries into a wash bag and stuffed that inside his bag. His last item was his most essential. His tablet. He’d stored all the information that the DPA had on Marburg virus, along with incidences and procedures manuals. He liked to have everything he needed at the touch of a button.

He smiled. Or maybe he should just have Grace Barclay at his side. Her knowledge seemed to rival his own and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

He glanced around his apartment. White, clean lines everywhere. She’d pretty much nailed the place with her description. Not that it bothered him. He wasn’t fixated on soft furnishings and curtains. He was much more interested in the glass around him. The view of open space.

As long as he had a window with a view outdoors he was fine. Put him in a room with no windows and within a few minutes he started to get antsy. It wasn’t a big deal. Because he didn’t let it be. He’d never used the elevators at the DPA. The stairs were the healthier option anyway, and there were windows in the stairwell. It didn’t matter that they were small, they were still there. And that’s what was important.

Up until now the only place in the DPA that had really made him uncomfortable was Frank’s lab. A totally enclosed environment. It needed to be. There were too many potential toxins in that lab. Any of them escaping into the natural environment would be a disaster.

He’d just about held it together today in the isolation room. There had been lots of practice drills involving the room before but he’d always had a timescale. He’d always known he’d only be in there for a few hours. Today the timescale had been indeterminable, and it had almost given him away.

At one point he’d noticed Grace’s green eyes fixed on him, watching the slight tremor in his hands with a question in her eyes. He’d ignored them. Had focused on one of the many other things that he’d had to be concerned about. It had helped. It had helped him stop visualising the walls of the elevator he’d been trapped in as a child. Six long hours in an elevator by himself. It had seemed like fun for a six-year-old to jump in the elevator and press the button, watching the doors slide closed on his horrified mother’s face. Typical mischievous little-boy behaviour. Only it hadn’t been so much fun when the lift had ground to a halt.

It hadn’t been fun at all when the alarm hadn’t sounded when he’d pressed the button and it had felt as if no one could hear him shout.

It had taken him a long time to finally hear the distant voices of adults calling to him.

Six hours, staring at four walls, was a long, lonely time for a little boy. It had felt like for ever. His imagination had run riot and left him with a permanent, and no doubt irrational, fear of being trapped again.

So windows were his friends. If he could see out of a window he was fine. Anything else he kept brief and to the point. Enclosed spaces were definitely time limited for Donovan Reid.

There was a nuzzle of something wet and soft at his feet. Casey. He bent down and picked up the little terrier, giving him a hug. ‘Hey, boy. You’re getting collected any time. You’re going to stay with Auntie Hannah for a few days.’ He was lucky. Not only did Hannah dog-walk for him, she was also able to take Casey for a few days at a time when he was on assignment. Dog-walking and dog-sitting services weren’t cheap in Atlanta, but he would have hated to leave Casey in kennels.

He’d never actively looked for a dog. A pet had been the last thing on his mind. But Casey had kind of found him. One night when he’d been out running he’d noticed Casey lying by the side of the road. He’d hesitated for a few seconds—what did he know about dogs?—but as soon as he’d looked into the big black eyes he’d been sucked in. A few hundred dollars’ worth of vet bills later he had become the proud owner of a terrier of unknown origin.

And it was an interesting partnership. Casey was more temperamental than most women he’d known. Snarky some days, loving on others, and absolutely determined to get his own way. On more than one occasion he’d grabbed hold of Donovan’s trouser leg and dragged him towards the door when he wanted to be walked.

Hannah rang the doorbell and walked in. Her immediate attention went to the dog and she dropped to her knees and started tickling Casey behind the ears. ‘Hey, boy. You’re going to come with me for a while.’ She picked up the plastic bag sitting on the counter, filled with Casey’s favourite dog food. Donovan only merited a mere wave. ‘Give me a call when you’re due back, Donovan. Casey and I will be fine,’ she clipped his lead onto his red collar and walked him out the door.

Donovan took a quick glance around the apartment, set his alarm and headed for the airport. It was a late flight and check-in wasn’t until eleven p.m. but a few members of his team were already there when he arrived, checking in their specialised equipment. He could travel light, but the equipment required by the team was a logistical nightmare.

He was going through one of the check lists when the voices around him stopped. He looked up. Dave and John were totally ignoring him, t

heir attention focused elsewhere. Dave lifted his hand and waved. ‘Over here, Grace,’ his shout came out as something resembling a squeak, and the two other men smiled in amusement.

Donovan glanced across the concourse. And blinked. Twice. He could hear movie theme music playing in his head. What the hell?

It seemed like Grace was moving in slow motion—one shapely leg striding in front of the other—with every eye in the building on her. Her hair had been cut shorter by a few inches and a red wrap dress enhanced every curve. Her black jacket was clutched in one hand, and her suitcase dragged behind her.

Dave murmured, ‘If that’s what she looks like with her clothes on...’

Both sets of male eyes turned to face Donovan, their question apparent.

‘Stop it, guys,’ he said brusquely. ‘Let’s keep it professional.’

He kept repeating those words in his head because not one of his thoughts about Grace right now could be described as professional.

Why had she cut inches from her hair? He’d liked watching the way it had streamed down her back, finishing at the base of her spine, in the shower. But it bounced as she walked across the concourse in her stiletto heels. It was just touching her shoulders now, the colour more vibrant and a few little curls appearing. Darn it—it was sexier than before.

As she neared, his gaze was drawn to her green eyes. Now her face wasn’t clouded by the expanse of hair, they stood out even more. Fixing on him with that deep colour.

Grace Barclay had attracted his attention before. But the Grace Barclay standing in front of him now was stunning.

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